


Breaking Hannibal

by MyDearStalker



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: BDSM, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 01:43:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3591627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyDearStalker/pseuds/MyDearStalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She stands, and unzips her skirt, revealing a tight silken slip. Her hips shrug the clothing to the floor.</p><p>‘Be a dear.’</p><p>He bends to pick up her skirt, fascinated. Her heels are bigger than the flesh between his legs. Her scent makes him dizzy. She steps toward Will as he retrieves the skirt, runs her hand over his back.</p><p>‘These scars weren’t for his benefit. These were a fantasy. So I’ll ask you again, but only once more. What tempts you, Hannibal?’</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Every time Hannibal moans, she whips him._

_She doesn’t like it when he whines. She’s said so, many times._

_Ugly memories threaten to surface, fire and screaming, the sound of cracking bone, ropes holding him, but then he hears her voice._

_‘Get on your knees.’_

_It centres him, and he’s so grateful, he falls._

 

* * *

 

 

She shakes herself back to the present. Her attention had wandered. Will is trembling like a leaf in front of her, shining with sweat. _Look at what he’s done to you_ , she thinks.

His back is pressed against the blackboard of the lecture theatre. He looks like she has a knife against his throat. _Hypervigilance_ , she diagnoses. She crosses the vast distance between them and gathers him to her breast. The movement is mechanical and unhurried. After a beat, he relaxes into her arms, gasping as if coming up for air.

‘Talk to me.’ she soothes. She strokes his head, and he draws in a ragged breath.

‘I talk to all these students and they look at me with such _hope_ , and _interest_ , like just sitting in the room with me will make them….’ He struggles. ‘Heightened. More potent. But I’m not present, there’s less and less of me every day, I vanish…’

His lips tremble.

‘You think your work is affecting you?’

He doesn’t, and neither does she.

‘My work.’ He laughs, desperate and sad. ‘Hannibal doesn’t seem to think so.’

‘What do you think?’

He pulls away, looks at her, cowed. Like he’s about to be hit. He’s silent.

‘I’ll tell you what I think.’ Bedelia says, measured. ‘I think you want to be free of him.’

He stares at her, a rabbit in the eyes of a fox. He’s on the threshold of collapsing, only needs permission, a push.

‘Let me be your white knight, Will. Let me keep you safe.’

He begins to cry. The doctor in her takes over, she puts a hand on his head, stroking his wet hair away. She passes him a Kleenex, guides him to a chair. He sits. When her hands part the collar of his shirt, he doesn’t stop her. To her, it’s evidence of Hannibal’s control. How divorced Will is from his own body.

The scars are obvious by the third button, little mottled bruises discolouring his chest.

‘Turn for me, Will?’

He stands, meek, and she gently takes his shirt from his shoulders. His back is a mess. She presses her lips together primly. This isn’t play. This is something else. This is torture. She doesn’t approve, there’s no finesse. Art, maybe, but no style.

‘Oh, Will.’ Her voice is more sympathetic than she feels.

‘Don’t feel sorry for me, Doctor. This is my own doing.’

‘This isn’t your fault.’

He shrugs his shirt back on. ‘I should have known better.’

‘There’s a way out, if you want it.’

‘There’s no way out of this. Hannibal is thorough. He is….’

He’s still, gripped in memory. She lets it wrack him. He merely shrugs.

She steps up to him, runs her hands down his back, smoothing his shirt. Into his ear, she speaks softly.

 ‘Whatever Hannibal is, I assure you, I am much, much worse.’

 

* * *

 

 

He hasn’t been able to get near her, and that only makes him more suspicious. From the minute he walked into her office, he thought he smelled…something. But she had kept her distance.

Now they sat so close to each other, their feet could touch, and he still couldn’t place it. Squaring off in arm chairs, Bedelia with a yellow legal pad on her lap.

‘Tell me about Will, Hannibal.’

He waits.

‘Last time we spoke, you mentioned he frustrated you.’

‘Not frustrated. Angered.’

‘Angered. How do you control this anger?’

He adjusts his tie. Bedelia is…effort. He likes that about her. It keeps him awake. Always having to listen carefully enough to hear what she’s really asking.

‘I don’t. Suppressing anger is an unhealthy temptation.’

‘And you’re not prone to temptation.’

It isn’t a question. He narrows his eyes. He’s lost the thread of the conversation, doesn’t know what she intends. His confusion lets his mind wander, and his eyes flick up her legs.

He’s thought about her often. It’s why he keeps coming back. She takes the burden of his mind for a while, guides him firmly through the maze of his thoughts. It’s an exquisite submission. One he would never bear from anybody else.

Lately, his thoughts have been....different in nature. It hasn’t been enough, this talk, his Will hasn’t been enough. It makes him angry, that Will cannot shoulder him. His little pet disobeys, won’t take the brunt of his anger, and Hannibal knows he shouldn’t expect him to, but the temptation is too much….

He looks back up at Bedelia. She watches him intently. He inhales, doesn’t want to know what she read on his face. He feels suddenly exposed.

‘I am sometimes tempted.’

‘What tempts you?’

He flicks his eyes to the floor in thought. He’s always been one to confront himself wholly.

_You tempt me._

But she isn’t his confessor.

‘Anything that promises me release. Freedom.’

‘Does Will cry when you whip him?’

The question comes from nowhere. It takes him a moment to fully comprehend the implications of her question. By then, it’s too late for denial. He is stunned.

She moves suddenly in a rustle of fabric, standing.

‘Come with me. There’s something I’d like to show you.’

She doesn’t wait to see if he obeys.

 

* * *

 

Will had arrived at her home late in the afternoon.

He had dropped the box awkwardly on her bed. ‘This is everything.’ He refused to meet her eyes as she sorted through the objects, separating them with the tip of a pencil.

 _Rope. Collars. Floggers._ She found a particularly nasty, spiked tool. She learned more about Hannibal by going through that small box than she had in all the months of therapy.

‘How do you know you can keep me safe? Keep him from taking me?’

‘Because you were never really his, Will. He can’t keep you if you don’t want to be kept.’

She saw him blush.

‘But you do want to kept, don’t you? Your keeper just needs a little training.’

‘And you’re the one to train him?’

Her smile is faint. She will do much more than _train_ him. She picks up a leather collar from the box, and fits it around Will’s neck.

‘There, now.’ She soothes, quietly. He closes his eyes in relief. Her hands begin to undress him. She’s kind, this time. He’s her bait, and she wants him safe. ‘You’ve nothing to be afraid of. You’re mine now. Your only concern is pleasing me.’

She unbuckles his belt, lets him take off his trousers. Turning, she walks to the box to retrieve the rope.

 

* * *

 

 

 

He follows Bedelia to a door that he knows leads to her bedroom, despite never having been given a tour of her house. She turns the handle, holds the door open for him. He steps through.

‘You _dare_.’

Will is contorted into an ugly shape, bound on the bed, gag in his mouth. Those are _his_ things, they belong to him. Will belongs to him. His lover’s head is buried in the bedclothes. In the evening light, the marks on his body are all the more obvious. When the door closes behind him, he whips his head around with a fury that manifests as focus.

They stare at each other, unblinking.

He cows first. He walks toward Will, lifts a hand to touch a naked cheek. Suddenly, Bedelia’s hand is on his, quick as a whip.

‘Uh uh uh. We don’t touch things that don’t belong to us.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘You’ve been relieved of your duties.’

‘Is this true Will?’

He’s met with silence, not even a moan behind the gag.

‘I prefer him silent.’

It’s too much, it’s humiliating, to be usurped like this. He feels useless, unwelcome. But she’s shown him this for a reason. It’s more than a triumph. It’s an invitation.

She walks to the chair in the corner and sits, leaving him standing like he’s awaiting judgement. She begins to remove her clothes as she talks, her fingers unbuttoning the cuffs of her blouse. The movement is business-like and tedious. Ordinary. But it leaves him shaken with lust.

‘He was a mess when I found him. You took liberties, Hannibal. You should know better.’ Her fingers unbutton the front of her blouse. She slips out of it, handing it to him to hold, never questioning his obedience. ‘You are not an amateur. You reveal yourself in the marks you make on his body.’

She stands, and unzips her skirt, revealing a tight silken slip. Her hips shrug the clothing to the floor.

‘Be a dear.’

He bends to pick up her skirt, fascinated. Her heels are bigger than the flesh between his legs. Her scent makes him dizzy. She steps toward Will as he retrieves the skirt, runs her hand over his back.

‘These weren’t for his benefit. These were a fantasy. So I’ll ask you again, but only once more. What tempts you, Hannibal?’

 

 

* * *

 

 

She watches him struggle. It takes a trained eye to notice his internal turmoil. When he speaks, it betrays no emotion.

‘You tempt me.’

She nods. ‘Yes. I know.’ She stands in front of him. ‘Why?’

He’s looking somewhere into the distance. ‘You…’

‘No. Not like that.’

He tilts his head, quizzical.

‘You don’t speak to me while you’re standing. You are not my equal.’

It’s like he’s been slapped, his head even jerks away. She’s bold, but one must be, at the beginning.

Dutifully, slowly, he kneels. She likes, even respects, the way he maintains his dignity, even in that small movement.

His acquiescence will make it easier on him, in the long run. She stands before him, runs a hand through his hair. He gasps, the first time he’s betrayed any emotion. She sees his cock straining at the fabric between his legs.

‘Good boy.’

The noise he makes is inhuman. ‘I am not your boy.’

Laughter colours her voice. ‘Of course you are. Look at you. ‘

She holds his jaw. ‘Answer me.’

The skin on his cheek warms where she strokes. He’s struggling, and she knows this will be the hardest part. Everything else he will endure. But he’s used to using his words to control others. Using them to submit, to admit his need, will be painful. And necessary.

She slaps him hard across the cheek.

‘Quicker than that.’

‘You….free me. You’re strong enough to bear my burden. I put myself in your hands and you take me so carefully, as if I weigh nothing. I need you.’

She lets the words lie between them, lets him absorb them. He’s vulnerable, and will never be safe from her again.

‘Strip.’

* * *

 

It’s unravelling so fast around him.

He still feels the slap sting his cheek. No one has hit him like that and lived to tell about it. Not since he was child.

He’s acutely aware of Will on the bed, listening to every word. He can feel him writhe, although his spasms are almost invisibly small. Something is pleasuring his most intimate places, something that he had bought for Will, for them, together. This is an unforgivably rude intrusion, enough to be almost violating.

And yet, he is on his knees in front of her.

He finds no compelling reason to stay on his feet. Not when everything he wants is being offered to him willing, and all he has to do is accept it.

Well, almost everything. Worse than any slap is the thought that Will has left him. He feels betrayed, a sort of terror that those he feels affection for will ride off into the sunset together, leaving him bereft. The thought that Bedelia can strip him of everything, even those he loves, is at once thrilling and terrifying.

Strip. The word floats back through his memory. She wants him to…well. His hands loosen his tie, unbutton his shirt, before he can begin to attempt to predict what she might want with him. He folds his clothing into a neat a square, places it by his side. He is shirtless.

Her violence is sudden. Her nails scrape his scalp as she gathers a clump of hair, and brings him face down on the floor. Her shoe is on his neck. She isn’t angry, only firm.

‘Quite obviously, I meant all your clothes.’ The heel presses into his soft flesh. ‘Would you put up with this from your own pet?’

He reacts to the word with a mixture of shame, anger, and bliss. But he obeys, shrugging out of his trousers, wriggling like a worm on the carpet before her. She releases his neck so that he can remove his shoes, and he places the items on top of his already folded shirt, neatly.

Then, like Will, he’s naked, cock standing to attention, impeccably muscled back rippling with goosebumps.

‘Give me your hands.’

He raises them as if praying, face flushing. She binds them tightly, fixing one end around his neck. She tugs at it like a leash, and he closes his eyes, exhilarated. He wants to tear her with his teeth, run his tongue down her flesh. He’s desperate to taste her, for her hands on him. It’s almost impossible to stay still.

His eyes open to see her walk carelessly over his neat pile, crumpling the cloth. A shoe falls onto the carpet. Then, she does the unthinkable. She releases Will.

* * *

 

Two bound men in her bedroom. One sweating, breathing around his gag, moving slowly around the vibrator buried deep inside him, pliant. The other wild, requiring more of her attention, ready for her to break.

Bedelia lives for moments like these. She has been pragmatic enough never to express such thoughts aloud, but has always believed both men would benefit from being brought to heel. For months, she’d watched them both flounder in the mire of their relationship, unable to sort through what they wanted from each other. Bedelia saw what they needed clearly. She often saw things clearly. And it would be her utmost pleasure to make their lives simple for them.

Will would follow where Hannibal led. His heart belonged to him, and Bedelia had no wish to interfere with that. But neither did she have any plans to put Hannibal’s possessive mind at ease. His jealousy could, perhaps, break him. If nothing else would. And Bedelia hadn’t failed yet, but there was a first time for everything.

So looked at him on the floor before her, so willing to be bound. In her experience, which was vast, people were ready to accept the realisation of their fantasies. Hannibal needed something more than that, more than play. He wanted to feel possessed, and he would need to be won. He would need to pushed, to know that she was truly capable of taking him whole.

She walked over to Will, enjoying the feel of Hannibal’s clothes beneath her feet. She stroked him gently down his back before undoing his bonds, his gag, removing the toy inside him. He seemed steadier than he had in the lecture hall, now that he knew his place. Free, he kneeled before her on the edge of the bed, kissed her stockinged feet gently, worshipping. She let him.

‘You surprise me, Will.’

Hannibal’s voice was calm. Bedelia let him talk, interested. Will ran his lips up the inside of her calf, silent, as she’d ordered. He had no part in this game.

‘I hadn’t thought you so cold. Do you truly think her capable of owning you? Do you think she can give you what I can?'

Will raised her slip, tugged at the waist of her stockings just enough for his mouth to reach her. He kissed her almost chastely between her legs. She saw the muscles of Hannibal’s jaw clench. Then, a little flicker of anger.

‘You’ll be begging for me before the night is over.’

Silently, Bedelia gestures toward the pile of rumpled clothes on the floor. Will biddably hands her Hannibal’s tie. Quietly, she whispers to him, stroking his hair affectionately. He rises, tie in hand, and steps behind Hannibal.

‘Don’t you…’

Hannibal’s last words are muffled as Will presses the silk between his lips, tying it behind his head, gagging him.

When Bedelia speaks, she addresses Will. ‘Isn’t that better?’

He nods, a little smile at the corner of his lips. She rises, and stands behind the doctor, placing a hand on his shoulders. They’re tense. She raises a foot to his back, and pushes hard, until his forehead touches the floor. His back rises and falls in anger. Will hands her Hannibal’s belt.

‘It’s hard to let go, Hannibal. But it’s necessary that you understand your place here.’

She steps next to him, lets him catch a glimpse of her shoes from the corner of his eye. Reminds him of where he is.

‘Who you are, what you want, is of no consequence to me. I’m purely interested in how I can use you. And more than willing to break you to make that happen.’

She considers the strap of leather in her hands, before holding it out to Will.

‘You are delightful, my pet. I think you could do with a little treat.’

 

* * *

 

 

Hannibal almost laughs. Break him? It’s unlikely, it’s almost cute….

_…but your hands are bound and your head is on the floor and you’re naked at her feet…_

But he wants it. Oh, he wants it. More than anything.

He feels his breath hot against the carpet as he listens to Bedelia address Will. She can’t. She wouldn’t. He’ll tear her apart if she dares…

The belt cracks across his back and he grits his teeth.

The tie was one thing. Everything in him boiled under the shame of being gagged by the man he owned. But this….this is too far.

Will lashes out again, and it’s hard. His pet is holding a grudge. Hannibal bites back a cry, and he feels Bedelia’s shoe on his back, like a hunter’s on a carcass.

‘But I like to hear you scream.’

He breathes hard in anger. Her heel digs into his back, and he winces. She lifts up her foot, and pain replaces it, the belt cracking across his back. He raises his head.

Enough playing. He wants her, and Will has had his revenge. He pulls tightly at the ropes that bind his wrists. They don’t break. He rubs them together, trying to loosen them.

‘Wait.’ Bedelia speaks to Will. Suddenly, a shoe sneaks under his rib cage, and lifts, flipping him onto his back.

‘Would you look at this. Are you trying to free yourself, Hannibal?’

He looks at her with barely concealed fury. She knows he can’t answer. He’s stared down enough people to know when they mean business. He’ll have to do something about his situation, quickly, or his position would become unrecoverable.

‘Please. Don’t let me stop you. I’d like to watch you struggle.’

Bedelia’s head is tilted to the side, her gaze examining. She sits on the edge of the bed, draws something out of the box. He can’t see it, but he knows its contents well enough to become anxious. He struggles against his binding, fingers trying to reach the knot, wrists pulling apart.

He hears Bedelia click her fingers, and a warm mouth suddenly engulfs him. Will tongues him, and it’s suddenly more difficult to struggle. He knows he must, knows that if he stays down much longer, he’ll lose the will to get back up again. Will’s mouth is almost a worse punishment. He wants to lie his head on the carpet, thrust into his mouth, just give in. But it wouldn’t be worthy of him. With great concentration, he pulls anew.

A ring cuts through the room, phone beckoning. Bedelia clicks her tongue. She walks up to Will, puts a hand on his head.

‘Be good. Don’t finish him.’

Hannibal waits until the door is closed. He pauses. With a surge of fury, he wraps his naked legs around Will’s torso, wrestling him to the floor in one strong move. He sits on his stomach, red faced and rumpled, and glares into Will’s fearful eyes. He roughly pulls the tie out of his mouth.

‘Are you enjoying yourself, Will?’

Will’s eyes look fearful and defiant. He doesn’t speak. Hannibal places his bound hands lightly over his soft throat.

‘Who do you belong to?’

More silence. Hannibal’s anger gives way to something close to panic. He tightens his grip on Will’s throat.

‘When you come home, I will make you scream.’

Nothing. Will closes his eyes.

‘Answer me.’

He squeezes until Will gasps for breath. Suddenly, the door opens.

 

* * *

 

 

Not unexpected. Hannibal, ungagged but still bound, sits on top of Will, hands around his throat. Not unexpected, but not tolerable, either. She strides silently behind him, hooks an elbow around his neck, and drags him off Will, throwing him on the ground. She slaps his face, once.

‘No. Absolutely not.’

Before he can recover, she snatches a length of leather from the bed, loops it tightly around his neck in a noose. She ties the tail to his feet and binds them together. The leather is short, makes Hannibal raise his legs to avoid cutting off his own airway. He’s strong. It will be a while before he becomes completely weary. But keeping his legs raised like that will put a strain on his stomach, his legs, and prevent him from struggling further.

And it will quickly become unbearable.

She puts her feet either side of him, looks down.

‘I leave you for one minute.’ Crop in hand, she strikes his side. ‘And you can’t play nice.’ She hits him again. It’s playful, really. If she wanted to hurt him, he’d be hurt. His legs, lifted slightly in the air, lower slightly, lower a little with the strain.

‘He’s mine. If I want to hurt him, I will.’ His voice is breathless with effort.

‘Really? Because he doesn’t seem like yours.’

 A snap of her fingers, and Will crawls toward Hannibal on the floor, takes him in his mouth again. He has a little smile on his face. She likes to see him grow in confidence. He’s enjoying seeing Hannibal at her mercy. And by extension, his.

She crouches down next to Will’s ear, whispers near it as he sucks, loud enough for Hannibal to hear.

‘I think you’ve been denied too long, my pet. Live out your fantasies, if you like. He’s yours.’

Her words have the desired effect. Hannibal opens his mouth, but she’s quicker. She shoves the crop in his mouth, muffling him. Will’s hands devour Hannibal, stroking, scraping. His tongue is rapid, skilled, wet. He sucks like it will quench his thirst, pinches, pulls at the man’s skin as if wanting to see marks on him, make him scream. Bedelia watches Hannibal struggle with the pleasure, legs lowering, pulling tight at the leather around his throat. His breathing deepens as he begins to succumb.

 

* * *

 

He bites down on the leather of the crop, overwhelmed. He knows the limits of his strength, knows that soon his heels must touch the floor, the leather must tighten to its fullest capacity. He can already feel himself fading, and it forces him to accept the pleasure weaving its warm fingers through his stomach, his chest. All his effort goes toward holding up his legs, he has no strength left to deny himself the absolute ecstasy of Will’s touch. He wants to thrust into Will’s mouth, but with his legs in the air, his hips are pressed firmly on the ground. In the back of his mind, he admires the ingenuity. He’ll remember this for later.

His stomach muscles are fatiguing, his legs shaking. He breathes in short bursts, beginning to feel dizzy. He never believed she had this in her. He never thought, not even when she fixed the leather around his neck, that she would let him choke. But he can’t hold anymore, has no choice. He opens his mouth, wide, to moan, as blackness takes hold of him. The last thing he feels is Will’s hands on his skin. The last thing he sees is Bedelia, smiling.

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Part Two

He wakes hazily. Bedelia’s voice lures him back to consciousness. His eyes stay closed as he tries to get his bearings, listens to her talk in the hope of hearing something of which he can take advantage. He’s chained to the ceiling, hanging, feet barely touching the floor.

‘He looks different like this.’

‘I imagine he does. Vulnerability can make a masterpiece of almost anyone.’

‘What if he won’t have me, after this?’

‘He’ll have you. If only because it will be what I ask of him.’

There’s a silence. Then her voice, again, firm. ‘But it won’t come to that. He loves you with all his heart, Will.’

‘May I touch him?’

‘You may. I’m sure he won’t mind, will you, Hannibal?’

He opens an eye at his name. He should have known better than to think he could fool her.

‘Do I have a choice?’

She doesn’t answer.

Will approaches him, looking…. _at_ him, as if he were a statue, a painting. He lightly runs his fingers up his side, like a schoolboy allowed to hold a snake under the watchful gaze of its handler. Experimentally, Will pinches the soft flesh at his hip, digging his nails in. Hannibal puffs out a breath of air, responding to the pain.

‘Do you like seeing me like this, Will?’ he asks, quietly, for him alone.

Will mutters his reply close to his cheek. ‘I like being near you. The chains are only safety.’

‘I never meant to treat you so cruelly.’

‘Of course you did.’ He laughs, bitterly.

‘It was never a measure of my love for you.’

Will snakes his hand around his neck, holds him close, leans his forehead on his.

‘I know.’ They stay like that, close, his arms straining against the restraints, feeling Will’s skin near his. Will whispers to him.

 ‘Do you want this?’

Hannibal knows what he means. It’s so like Will, to be concerned. But his lover already knows the answer, he just doubts himself. He shouldn’t. He’s remarkable.

‘Yes.’

He knows Bedelia is listening, her back to him, preparing something. Giving them a false moment of privacy. He raises his voice just a little.

‘It’s just a question of whether what I want is attainable.’

* * *

 

 

Once Hannibal gave in, she took the opportunity to inject him with a little something, enough to keep him under once she restored his oxygen. Will had, of course, fretted like the kind soul he washe let . She let him fuss as she changed.

She didn’t feel like herself in a slip, it was as if someone had ripped off her clothes in passion. She preferred the more traditional corset, stockings and heels, because at heart she enjoyed the little rituals.

With Will, moving the heavier man was not difficult, nor was restraining him. They hadn’t had to wait long until he surfaced, chest glistening with sweat in the low light.

Now, she let them talk, have their moment. She wants to preserve their bond. They’ll attach themselves to her soon enough, Will already devoted. She isn’t there to destroy them. She could, but its not what any of them want.

Hannibal’s voice challenges her from the opposite wall. She’d love to take days, weeks, giving him what he asks for, her complete dominion over him. But he’d enjoy it too much, and she wants what comes after the breaking. Wants to watch him writhe in his desperation, look at her in heat. She wants to hear him beg, most of all.

She turns and looks at him. He stares at her, from beneath his lashes. Cocky, challenging, not even a little drowsy. She smiles, and they share something in that moment. An understanding passes between them. He knows what is coming for him, and welcomes it.

She stalks toward him, and Will rushes out of her path. She locks her lips onto his, the only point of contact with his body, and kisses him deeply. She means every second.

It’s enough to leave him breathless, his body responding as she pulls away.

She runs her hand down his side, feels the little hairs of his body stand to attention. She aims her words above his head. 

‘I don’t want to torture you, Hannibal. I could, I have before, but I find it to be brutish. And that sort of persuasion, it doesn’t last.’ She runs a hand down his chest, his stomach, the back of her hand brushing the length of his cock. She sees the pulse in his neck flutter. ‘I don’t want to leave anything inside you untouched. I want you to know that you submitted to me because you chose to, because it’s what you wanted more than anything, more than life. I want you to understand, really understand, the affect I have on you. To be a slave to your own need. Because despite how much you try, you will never be able to control that. I will always be able to do this to you.’

She wraps her hand around his cock and strokes. He moans deeply.

She is unaffected, continues to tease him.

‘Here, boy.’ She calls Will by her feet. He kneels, and she slips a chain through his collar, holds the leash tight to her waist. Will strains to lick between Hannibal’s legs as she continues to stroke him, ever so lightly. She watches his fingers curl at the air.

She presses her body against him, bracing him against the wall. The pressure isn’t hard, but she wants him to be able to feel her breasts against his chest, her lips teasing his neck. She parts her legs, lets his cock rest there. She slides her arms up his forearms, holds his hands in both of hers, Will’s leash still looped around her wrist.

‘You will beg for me before you're satisfied.’

She hears him chuckle. It’s rueful. He knows he can’t hide his desire, can only fight his want for her. His defiance won’t last.

She pulls away and tugs at Will’s leash until he’s kneeling beside her once more. She strokes his head fondly, tilting her own, eyeing her captive.

‘Where shall we start?’ she muses. She leans down to talk into Will’s ear, as if he were a puppy. Will crawls forward, takes Hannibal whole in his mouth, looks up into his eyes, still.

‘Do you want him, Hannibal?’

 

* * *

 

 

Desire pulls at him. He feels as if he is stretching, as if time has paused. His skin is straining, trying to reach toward her fingers. When Will takes him in his mouth, holds him there, compliant, it nearly ruins him.

He thought he wanted to be challenged, but now he considers that perhaps what he really wants is to win, to confirm to himself that he’s still in control of his body and his want. He’s no longer convinced this is the truth, because hanging here, shoulders straining, unable to influence the person in control of his need, is delicious.

He meets Will’s eyes. ‘Yes.’ His own voice is deep, breathless. ‘I want him.’

She still holds Will by the leash, and he looks delectable in her hands. He follows her so biddably, and he realises now his error. Will needs a gentle hand. One he’s not able to give. This is for the best.

Bedelia approaches, puts a hand on Will’s head. Her eyes hold his.

‘Suck him. Just once.’

Will obeys, and Hannibal’s head tilts back, unable to hold himself still. Will releases the pressure of his mouth, and his cock throbs, desperate for more. He thrusts into his throat, but Will pulls away immediately. The tail of a crop lifts his chin.

‘No. Be good.’

He pants, his chest thumping.

‘Tell me what you want, Hannibal.’

It’s hard, talking like this, a curious shame comes over him when he’s forced to admit what he needs. He knows this is intentional.

‘His tongue. I want his mouth, I want him to suck me.’

She nods. ‘I can see that. Do you think you deserve it?’

Frustration boils in him, he pulls at his restraints, a yell of frustration reverberating around the room. Will flinches, but Bedelia is stone, only encouraging the kneeling man forward with a pat of her hand. Will runs his lips teasingly up and down the length of his cock. He presses his lips together tightly, unable to suppress a low moan.

‘I can work to deserve it.’

He hears the smile in her voice.

‘That’s what I like to hear.’

* * *

 

 

Bedelia could do this all night. Watching him struggle is a delightful revenge for all those cocky witticisms he liked to tease her with during therapy, all the vaguely threatening dinner parties and innuendo. She’d love to leave him here in her basement, occasionally letting Will play, for nights on end. And maybe she will, eventually.

But first.

She clicks her tongue, and Will heels. Reaching up, she unhooks Hannibal’s hands from the ceiling, fastening them behind his back, pleased to see he doesn’t struggle. She pushes his shoulders gently until he kneels, and gestures to Will to bring a chair from the corner of the room. She sits in front of him, gathering Will’s leash in her hands. She stares at Hannibal for a moment, muscular shoulders bent back, head bowed.  She can feel the heat from his body.

He won’t have her, not for a long time, as much as she wants to see him beneath her, panting and desperate to come. That’s a privilege that has to be earned.

She raises her foot, and he bends to kiss it, gently, tentatively. He nudges her shoe free from her foot and she lets it fall, raising the other so he might repeat the action. He looks up at her, helplessly, and she knows he wants to consume her, strip her, is frustrated by his bound hands. Reading his mind, she tells him softly, ‘Use your teeth.’

 

* * *

 

 

Her scent overpowers him, he can smell nothing else. He needs to convince her, needs her to know he’s genuine in his compliance, so he bends to kiss her foot, looking up at her timidly. Timid isn’t in his nature, but for her, he will learn. When she doesn’t chastise him, when no pain comes, he grows bolder, takes the heel between his teeth and pulls. The shoe falls to the floor, and he suddenly needs to feel her skin more than he needs air. He looks up at her, eyes burning, and she gives him the instruction: Use your teeth.

They were once so sharp. His teeth have bitten, torn through human flesh. In her presence, they are blunt. He feels muzzled. No longer caring that Will looks on, he dives between her legs. She parts them, allowing him access, pushing herself towards him just a little. He grasps the waist of her stockings between his teeth, scraping the skin slightly as he struggles for purchase. It snaps back into place. He perseveres, and his attempts grow frustrated, he bites, gnaws at the elastic. She waits patiently until he at last grasps it firmly, and stretches it away from her, looking into her eyes plaintively as he holds it out. Pulling it down without without her help is an impossibility. Eyes withering in scorn, she lifts her hips, lets him drag the material down around her thighs. He gnaws once more on each leg, rolling them down with his lips, until she lies exposed.

A hand slips round the back of his head, and he is drawn in between her, off balance. If she were to pull back, he would land face first on the floor. But she pushes his mouth into her, and he moans, finally able to taste her, to feel her skin on his. He kisses her passionately, tongue slowly caressing every part he can find, until she’s wet with both of them. He sucks, laps, until she tilts her head back, a small, quiet sigh escaping her lips.

He feels Will rise beside him, tugged by the leash. He doesn’t stop, doesn't look up, but he feels Will pull down her corset, exposing her breasts, feels him bend to take her in his mouth. God, he wants that mouth. He wants both of them.

He puts all his desire into pleasing her, hoping for reward.

 

* * *

 

His tongue is as clever as she knew it would be. She delighted in watching him struggle, red faced, frantic. But she grew impatient for his mouth, and let him roll down her stockings. She was pleased by his performance. This was something he could do, and do well. She would remember that, for that future.

He sucks her hard, and she opens her mouth to gasp silently. Her hand slackens on Will’s leash for a second, reminding her of her neglect. She roughly pulls him up, directs his head to her breast. His hands pulled down her corset and he grazes her with his teeth, other hand squeezing, pinching. He is devoted in his attention, and she leans her head back in pleasure, allowing herself to feel their mouths on her, to fall deeper.

Hannibal’s tongue runs between her, slow, teasing. He grips her clit between his teeth, licks it hard with the tip of his tongue, hardly stopping to breathe. The pressure, in concert with Will’s hands, nearly sends her over the edge, and she moans.

Reaching down a hand, she pulls Hannibal up, supported by his hair only. Will continues to tongue her, and when she speaks it is to the ceiling.

‘Do you want to make me come, my pet?’ Voice breathless. He turns his head awkwardly to kiss her wrist, murmurs into it.

‘Yes, desperately.’

‘Beg me.’

She wants to hear him. Wants Will to hear him. Wants him to hear himself.

‘Please.’

She laughs. Always the preamble, they can never just jump right in, have to test the waters.

He shakes free of her hand, lies his head against her thigh. When he speaks, it sends the smallest of vibrations up her skin.

‘I would do anything to please you, taste you. I want to live for your pleasure above my own, know that my tongue is good for nothing but making you sigh. I need you.’ His last word is almost a whisper. ‘Please.’

She grabs him again, places him between her legs. Good enough.

Immediately, his tongue thrusts into her, and she cries out. He licks, and she spreads her legs, wanting more of him.  His tongue runs between her, taking her clit in his mouth, and he sucks her desperately. Her legs clench around him, welcoming him, until she comes shuddering, thrusting her hips into his mouth.

She falls back on the chair, releasing Will’s leash, satisfied. She strokes Hannibal’s hair tenderly.

‘Look at my good boys.’

 

* * *

 

Hannibal drinks her, soothes her with his tongue. He can feel her sweat on his cheek, and feels accomplished, useful. He delights in her little shudders, her fast breathing. His world shrinks to encompass only his need, and her warmth. He doesn’t even flinch at her praise.

She rises from the chair, pushing him back onto his knees. She keeps her pelvis thrust into his mouth, and he kisses her lazily.

‘And now?’ She asks him, ‘Do you deserve it?’

He looks up at her. ‘Oh yes.’

She turns to Will, speaks to him. ‘What do you think, dear one? In this area, you’re far more experienced than Hannibal. What do you think of his performance?’

Hannibal narrows his eyes at Will, tries to communicate all the things he’ll do to him if he prevents him from gaining any release. Then he remembers he no longer has that privilege, and lowers his eyes to the floor.

‘I think,’ begins Will, with a malicious smile. ‘Gold star for effort.’

Bedelia nods, and lies Hannibal on his back, gently. ‘If you’d be so kind?’

Will takes him in his mouth once more, runs his tongue slowly down his shaft, and up again. Hannibal thrusts into his throat, and this time Will lets him. Then, he sucks hard, and pulls back. The cold of the air against his sensitive skin is torturous.

Hannibal opens his eyes, panting. Bedelia looks down on him.

‘You said you wanted his mouth, his tongue. Your wish has been granted.’

He exhales in disbelief. ‘You know that’s not what I mean, not _all_ I meant….’

‘Learn from this. Never rush through your pleading, Hannibal. I do love to hear it.’

He groans, panting. ‘ _Please_. I must…I have to….’

She waits for him to continue. He rolls onto his side, head pressed into the ground, fighting himself at every step. He walks over on his knees, falls at her feet.

‘Please. It’s almost painful.’

She looks down on him, his head pressed into feet, back heaving. She bends down, presses his head into the floor.

‘Who do you belong to?’

He murmurs, knowing that it won’t be acceptable, but hoping anyway. She grabs a clump of his hair.

‘Who?’

He breathes deeply, knowing his answer is a line crossed. But when he answers, it is with conviction.

‘You.’

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Have a kink prompt? I'm game. swansandtyphoid.tumblr.com


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